


On the Green

by sarcasmandirony



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Business, Alternate Universe - Golf, CEO!Derek, Caddy!Stiles, M/M, Werewolf!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-04-05
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:30:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarcasmandirony/pseuds/sarcasmandirony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is the CEO of a major company, also a werewolf, who doesn't know how to play golf. Stiles is a smart caddy, too curious for his own good.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Green

**Author's Note:**

> Everything I know about Golf comes from playing Wii Sports and skimming my eyes through the Wikipedia page. Sorry for any inaccuracies! Also, I don't know a thing about business deals. Oops.

When Stiles and Scott met up with Derek and Chris Argent, Stiles couldn’t help but remember how he felt when he first got the news that he had been handpicked to be Derek Hale’s – owner of a local business company, werewolf and Lycan activist – caddy.

“Bilinski!” Finstock, who never got his name right and insisted on being addressed as ‘coach’, called him.

“Yeah, coach?”

“You’ve been booked as Derek Hale’s caddy.”

“What?” Stiles asked, confusion and shock settling in his mind. “That robotic ass that became CEO of Hale Enterprises a couple of months ago?”

“Yeah, that’s the one.” Coach slapped the back of his head. “And don’t go around calling names to influent members.”

“Okay, okay. I won’t.” Stiles promised, rubbing the sting that was making his head buzz away, a question jumping around in his head. “Why me?”

“Beats me.” Coach shrugged. “I mean, you are kind of smart, or as smart as a caddy can be.” And then he laughed enthusiastically, like he just said the funniest thing ever.

Stiles let out a forced laugh. “Even drooling baboons can exceed in certain fields. Staff manager, for example.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, Bilinski. Don’t screw this up.” Coach told him, nudging his elbow before turning around and walking out of the staff room.

Of course Stiles had seen Derek Hale before, in his tv screen, and he knew the man was hot, but somehow seeing him live was far different than what the flickered box of his living room, colors heightened and image blurred, showed him.

Wearing a black collared shirt that framed his chest and forearm muscles beautifully, along with white khaki pants that left little to imagination, Stiles felt his entire body flushing in a way that never happened while watching Derek’s scowl on the magic box before.

Scott, his ever trustworthy friend, gave Stiles a slight bump, bringing him back from the scary place that was his mind.

“Hi, I’m Stiles. I’ll be your caddy for the day.” Stiles shook Derek’s hand, strong under his touch in a way that only an unhealthy obsession with exercise could accomplish. Also, werewolves.

Derek wrinkled his nose and Stiles made a note to keep his body in check.

“Aren’t you a bit too young?” Derek asked him, like he was questioning every choice he made in his life until then.

“I’m eighteen. Besides, one could say you are too young to be the CEO of a major enterprise, but here we are.” Stiles told him with a shrug, unable to control himself.

Coach Finstock was going to kill him.

Against all his expectations, Derek just arched an eyebrow, mildly impressed and quickly threw his golf bag towards Stiles unsuspecting hands.

“Chris Argent.” The man beside Derek informed him, after a handshake.

Stiles already knew that, but hearing it out loud and seeing both men together suddenly made the reasons behind this golf match were clear as day.

During Derek’s first months as CEO of Hale Enterprises, without his uncle’s guiding hand, Peter, due to disagreements, he had made some mistakes that had led to severe loss of profit. Nowadays, the family feud seemed resolved, but the company was still indebted and in serious need of capital. Argent Inc., on the other side, had the money, at least for now, but was quickly losing market placement due to the recently deceased CEO, Gerard Argent, involvement in several anti-Lycan campaigns.

Hopping into the golf kart, Stiles turned to Derek.

“Let’s hope it doesn’t rain.” He said, like he was sharing a dirty secret, unable to keep a shit eating grin at bay. “Lots at stake today.”

Derek looked at him with a dubious look.

“Just drive.” He growled, which Stiles discarded as a werewolf thing.

“Hoy hoy, captain. Next stop, hole one.” Stiles said, cackling like a childish teenager while turning the wheel and driving through the golf court.

Derek grunted painfully beside him.

When they got to hole number one and after Stiles dropped the golf bag on the border of the tee box, he got out his cellphone and, ignoring a pointed look from Derek, brows furrowed in disapproval, started playing a game. Let’s be honest, golf is a sport of strategy and patience, and although Stiles’ rocked the strategy thing, the patience side of the thing kind of bored him. A lot.

Mr. Argent was the first to stroke, ball flying away perfectly.

“Very nice, sir.” Scott complimented.

And then it was Derek’s turn, the surly man taking an awful amount of time just to take a club out of the golf bag. So much time Stiles looked up from his cellphone’s screen to see what was going on, only to find a confused look in Derek’s eyes, like a deer caught in the headlights, while he stared at the bag. The confused look quickly turned into an angry stare, like he was demanding the golf bag to give him the answer to the meaning of life.

Fighting the urge to tell Derek it was four, Stiles browsed through the wood golf clubs and took the one more suited for the distance they were facing, only to have his hypothesis confirmed.

The wood on the club was immaculate, untouched.

Derek had never played golf once in his life. Stiles felt like face palming himself and smacking Derek on the back of his head.

Instead, he turned to face Mr. Argent. “Why don’t you go ahead?” Stiles asked, making a shooing motion with his hands that got him a look from Scott that left no doubt of his opinion referring Stiles’ mental health, or lack thereof.

Argent looked at Derek and nodded, like saying _only once._

As he pushed his golf club into Scott’s arms, walking back to the golf kart, Scott stuffing the club in the golf bag and rushing to keep up, Stiles turned to the clueless golfer.

“Next time, choose a sport you know how to play.” Stiles told him.

“You should’ve let me try.” Derek growled.

Stiles rolled his eye. “Oh, please. I guess keeping your pride intact is more important than making a complete fool out of yourself and failing to close a deal I have no idea why it hasn’t been closed yet.”

“What do you know, you’re only an eighteen year old punk.” Derek muttered, stepping closer into Stiles’ personal space. “A _caddy_.” And the word sounded like an insult in his mouth.

“Then please, carry on.” Stiles told him, handing him the club and motioning for the tee box.

Derek stepped inside it and placed the golf ball on the grass, unsure of how to hold the club and how to approach the stroke, like a baby struggling with his first steps. Stiles didn’t know if to laugh or to pity him.

Taking a long breath, he walked into the tee box.

“Listen, because I’m only going to tell you this once. In the tee box, this section right here, you’re allowed to use a tee.” Stiles informed him, taking an object out of the golf bag and theatrically waving it around Derek’s face. Thank God for whoever set it up. “You place the spiky part of the tee on the grass and the golf ball on top of it.”

Stiles stood back up and gave Derek a once over, groaning. His posture was worse than that of an old dude with back problems.

Without any warning, Stiles manhandled Derek, his heart skipping a beat at the feeling of Derek’s strong muscles just beneath his fingertips, Derek seemingly not minding the contact. Maybe he could sense with his werewolf nose just how Stiles’ body was reacting to the close proximity and didn’t want to make things any weirder. “Since you’re new, always be in a parallel line with your target. That’s the ball.”

“I know that.” Derek replied, seemingly offended.

Well, boo ooh.

He then got behind Derek and down on his knees. “Wait, what are you doing?” Derek asked, surprised, no hint of surliness in sight.

“Saving your company. You can thank me later.” Stiles explained shortly, with a dismissing hand wave. “Open your legs.” He said, popping Derek’s legs open, the werewolf offering no resistance. “Back upright, knees flexed.” Stiles moved to stand in front of Derek, showing him how it was done. “Like this.”

Derek stared over Stiles’ body with furrowed brows, before mirroring him.

At least that he could do.

“Now give me the club.” Stiles asked, hand stretched, receiving the wooden club right away. “Since you used to play baseball in college, we’ll use the baseball grip. That’s when –.”

Derek yanked the club from Stiles’ hands. “Yeah, I know how to do that.” He growled.

“Fine. I take it you know how to swing as well?” Stiles asked him with an arched brow.

“Only on the field.” Derek told him with a serious expression and Stiles wandered if he was really serious or just trying to be funny and failing at it.

After Derek swung the club and hit the ball, Stiles jumped in the air, like an overexcited cheerleader, releasing a victory cry. “That wasn’t bad. For a first stroke, I mean.” Stiles conceded.

Derek popped his head up at the compliment and during the short stroll ‘till the golf kart, Derek radiated restrained pride behind surly brows.

“By the way, in golf, the point is to put the ball in the hole.” Stiles joked with hand motions to help with the visuals.

“Shut up.” Derek muttered.

And after half of the drive ‘till where Derek’s golf ball is now resting, Scott and Mr. Argent driving towards there as well, Derek breaks the silence.

“You always make things sound so dirty.”

Stiles just laughed because Derek just looked so confused.

“Took you long enough.” Argent said when Stiles parked the kart near the small ball laying on the fairway. “I was starting to wonder if your caddy was teaching you how to play.”

Stiles laughed dryly. “As if. One had to be really dumb for that to happen.”

“Don’t cry when I beat you.” Derek told Argent, completely ignoring Stiles.

Taking a wooden club, a different one to better adapt to the decreased distance, Derek played with a tee in his hand, looking at Stiles as if challenging him, waiting to see how he would react.

Stiles simply lifted his eyebrows.

Derek walked to stand beside the golf ball, crouching down and Stiles’ heart began beating faster, his hands closing in a tight fist, because there was no way Derek was that stupid. Stiles definitely remembered telling Derek that there was only one place where you could use a tee. In the _tee box_!

From the corner of his eye, he could see Argent watching Derek intently.

Then, the corner of Derek’s lips turning up in a smirk, he stood up, tucking the tee in his back pocket and damn him and his werewolf senses and how Derek was probably mocking Stiles, laughing inside at how worried he had made Stiles be. Never before in his life was Stiles caring for Derek Hale again.

And when Derek stroked the golf he didn’t completely suck.

“I guess that was a good shot. For, you know, someone dumb.” Derek said to no one in particular.

Argent pursed his lips and started walking, Scott following closely behind.

“How was it?” Derek asked him during the silent walk until where Argent’s ball rested, probably hoping to get a compliment.

“It was decent enough.” Stiles acknowledged. “Though you’re going to have to do a lot better to impress your wannabe business partner. And don’t ever do that again!” He muttered, reminded that he was angry with Derek.

“Yeah, I better not. Don’t want to give you a heart attack.” Derek mocked, like it was all Stiles’ fault, somehow able to keep a straight face.

 _Fuck you._ Stiles thought.

And maybe his body sent out the unspoken message perfectly, the scents and noises originating from every cell on his entire body blending together in a perfect melody, a perfectly synchronized orchestra just waiting to be heart, because Derek directed him a dirty look.

Derek seemed to take on the challenge of impressing Argent to heart, getting better with each stroke.

One thing Stiles was forced to admit, the guy _was_ a fast learner.

“Be careful with the wind.” Stiles warned Derek when a breeze began blowing. “It’s coming south.” He said, wet finger popped in the air.

“Actually, it’s coming east.” Derek replied, lengthening his ears, now hairy and with a pointy curve.

Oh, right.

Once werewolves become a constant of your everyday life, you kind of forget how not normal they actually are. Which is kind of scary, since you start ignoring the dangers laying right under your nose. Though there have always been dangers, whether in the shape of long blades or arrows, guns or deadly claws.

Derek’s arm flutters a bit during the stroke, and for a moment Stiles thought it would be a terrible stroke, but he was, like happened so many times, completely and utterly wrong.

“Nice stroke.” Stiles congratulated.

“Don’t sound so surprise.” Derek pointed out dryly and then smirked, Stiles bracing for what was coming. “You should see what I can do out of the field.” He whispered, low enough that only Stiles could hear it, feeling himself flush from top to bottom.

Stiles gagged, unable to voice out a witty replied and cursed Derek, who looked completely pleased with himself, for the not at all unpleasant visuals that were now flashing through his brain.

A pat on the shoulder from Chris Argent seemed to bring Derek back to his usual professional demeanor, along with an unreadable expression. “Walk with me.” Argent asked.

Stiles and Scott were left behind, carrying the golf clubs, giving the two business men the illusion of privacy, while still standing in earshot.

“I hate this job.” Scott complained.

“It has its moments.” Stiles said, an image of Derek lying on a bed still vivid in his mind, while trying to listen in on the private conversation developing overhead.

“That’s because you haven’t met Argent. Apparently that cute girl to whom I’ve been giving golf lessons is his daughter and she’s been talking about me. Shortly, he hates me and he’s trying to make my life a living hell.” Scott revealed.

Stiles pulled Scott in a bro hug. “I feel you and you can complain about Argent or how much your life sucks after work.” And then he tilted his head forward, informing Scott that he wanted to listen in.

Scott chuckled and nodded, already acquainted with Stiles’ curious and meddling ways.

“Let’s go straight to business.” Argent said, after the initial formalities. Derek agreed with a nod, like he had just been handed the Holy Grail. “It’s public knowledge that Hale Enterprises finances are, for lack of a better word, in the doghouse. The question is, how beneficial would this partnership be for Argent Inc.? I mean, investing that such amount of money in a dying company, when we have better, more profitable options, might not be our best solution.”

Oh, Stiles saw where this was heading.

Chris Argent intended to cater to the Lycan community and sympathizers at a rainy day discount and was trying to spin Derek around.

The look of bewilderment and mild panic at losing his last hope flourishing on Derek’s expression told Stiles it was working.

Maybe all wasn’t as well in the Hale clan as media painted it out to be, since Peter had apparently launched his nephew, completely unprepared, in thank full of sharks, which was ill-advised at best.

“What are you doing?” Scott muttered. “Come back here.” And he tried to grab the fabric of Stiles’ shirt, fingers grazing through it, but Stiles was already out of reach.

Stiles didn’t knew why he was about to intervene, an action that could most likely cost him his job. He didn’t even cared for Derek that much. Maybe it was because his mom had died while fighting for Lycan rights and Hale Enterprises was one of the biggest Lycan supporters. Maybe Stiles just liked a good challenge.

Whatever. Stiles was never one to question his spur of the moment decisions, anyway.

“Excuse me. Do you mind if I have a word?” Stiles asked the two men.

“Derek, it’s your choice. But I would advise against bringing a caddy to a gun fight.” Argent adverted mockingly, addressing Derek, whom scowl told the caddy to resume his spot next to Scott.

“It’s an honor to be so well received.” Stiles said, sarcasm dripping into every word. “I may be but a simple caddy, but I’m proud of knowing a bit of everything.” He said, sending a pleading look Derek’s way, expecting to have his silent request declined.

Derek had no reason to trust him.

“I don’t want to be unpleasant, but –” Argent was about to say, but Derek interrupted him.

“Wait, let the boy talk. We might get a good laugh.” Derek said, fake charm leading Argent to agree. Maybe he wasn’t as clueless to the world of business as one might assume at first sight.

When his eyes laid on Stiles, they were cautious, like already regretting his decision.

A little trust would be good.

Stiles cleaned his throat, ignoring the two set of eyes staring at him like hawks, waiting to attack their prey.

“Argent Inc. might have a healthy roll of investors, for now. I mean, your company is associated with out of date values only valid in our current time to extremists and lunatics and those are, believe it or not, the common buyer. Recent studies show the general markets are quickly embracing a Lycan friendly perspective, even the older customer acknowledging that we are way past the point where our Lycan brethren can be treated as slaves or second class citizens. It’s time to move forward. But that can’t be done with just simple words or a totes lame commercial, but through the power of actions. If you don’t change your marketing approach fast, your sales and market value will continue to decrease like they have lately and your investors will run away faster than werewolves from wolfsbane.”

“And as you having other options is concerned, I call bluffing. You said it yourself, this isn’t the most profitable of arrangements, which means you went down other avenues before and were promptly shut down. Which is understandable, there probably aren’t that many pro-Lycan organizations desperate enough to do business with the infamous Argent Inc. This partnership is your last chance.” Stiles finished with a dramatic click of his tongue, for good measure.

His speech seemed to leave Chris Argent completely wordless and placed a look of surprised reverence on Derek’s eyes that made Stiles’ chest puff out with pride.

“Now, if you excuse me, I’ll return to my caddy duties and let you two talk.” Stiles said, returning next to Scott, who was looking at him with bulged out eyes.

He didn’t knew why Scott was so surprised. Stiles had always been interested by Lycan affairs and wasn’t afraid of a good challenge.

The remainder of the walk was made in relative silence, the quietude of the golf field only broken by the noise of Stiles’ fingers smashing the keys of his keyboard, birds humming and the casual ‘ _ball!_ ’.

“Why are you trusting me so much, or my advices or whatever? I mean, I know why I’m doing this. I happen to enjoy a good challenge and you’re not totally unlikable. You, on the other hand, have no reason to trust me.” Stiles said, curious and annoyed, like Derek was some big puzzle he was trying to make sense of but there was just one piece missing. And Stiles has already looked for it everywhere – under his bed, inside the toilet's discharger.

He has even dug holes all over the yard, but the damn thing is nowhere to be found.

“I don’t trust anyone.” Derek told him and that was just sad.

Also, it wasn’t a real answer, but Stiles decided not to push the subject any further.

Only an hole later, when Derek’s ball fell on a bunker, did Derek spoke again.

“Thank you.” He said, taking the iron club Stiles’ was handing him, especially suited from getting balls out of tricky areas.

“No biggy. It’s my job, after all, to assist bad golf players.” Stiles offered with a shrug, in lieu of a _you’re welcomed._

“You know what I’m referring too.” Derek told him, serious, before swinging, the club whistling while rapidly moving through the air, the golf ball escaping the sand trap and smoothly landing on the green, just a bit behind Chris’.

“Nice on.” Stiles congratulated Derek with a pat on the back, before placing the strap of the golf bag around a shoulder. “Get it? Because you’re on the green.”

Derek shook his head. “Lame.” He offered dryly.

“And don’t mention it, about before, I mean.” Stiles bumped his shoulder with Derek’s, chuckling. “You also shouldn’t mention how much of an ass you were, just a couple of minutes ago.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek muttered, looking annoyed but not sorry at all.

Stiles grinned. He would take what he could get. Yep, this was definitely a victory. There was no inflection Derek could give to his words or no facial expression he could do, even if it involved Derek’s very persuasive and expressive eyebrows, to convince Stiles otherwise.

“You’re a smart kid.” Derek pointed out, after a silent while of Stiles dwelling on his own little victory. “What are you doing here?”

“Right now, I’m saving your ass.” Stiles replied, sighing when Derek’s eyes told him he was demanding a real answer. “Not everyone is born with everything handed on a silver platter. Some of us have to earn our own money in order to pay our way through college.”

“What are you thinking of majoring in?” Derek asked with real interest spiking his tone.

“Something related to marketing or economy.” And then. “Sorry.”

“Why?” Derek arched a brow.

“Well, sometimes –. _Most_ of times, I say things without really thinking them through, things that may come off as rude or unpleasant. Which usually they are, but you weren’t supposed to know that.” Stiles chuckled, dropping the golf bag.

Derek laughed, nodding his head. “You were right and I deserved it.” His brows furrowed, like he was pondering something. “When you graduate, Hale Enterprises would be honored in having you.” Derek said, taking a putter out of the bag without needing Stiles’ help.

Stiles walked away from Derek to hold the flagstick up and dodge the question.

You don’t just offer someone a job in a multimillionaire company after just knowing them for a day, especially if that someone isn’t even out of college. Maybe Derek has as much of insane as he has of hot and surly. Though, if that was the case, Peter would have requested Derek to step out of CEO do to reason of insanity, during the feud.

Besides, could werewolves even be insane? Probably not.

Derek swung the club, disturbing Stiles’ thoughts, the ball entering smoothly into the hole. “Yeah! Nice par, Derek.”

Stiles took note of it on Derek’s score card in his messy handwriting and, slipping the flagstick back inside the hole, walked back towards Derek and high fiving him.

“Your turn, Argent.” Derek said, grinning.

“Scott, flagstick.” Argent ordered with a tilt of his head.

“Right away, sir.” Scott hurried towards the hole, picking the flagstick up and stepping aside. “You can swing now, sir.”

“Thank you, Scott.” Argent said, dryly, positioning himself.

Derek poked his elbow slightly against Stiles’. “You didn’t answer my request.” Derek asked, sounding a bit nervous, uneasy.

Stiles looked at him through the corner of his eye. “Before you go around promising jobs to people that didn’t even applied to college yet, let’s try to save your company first. Then you can kick yourself out tearing it apart.” Stiles told him teasingly.

Derek nodded. “Alright.”

“Good job, sir. Nice par.” Scott congratulated Mr. Argent.

“Kissing my booths won’t lead you anywhere.” Argent told Scott. “Just hurry up. Four more holes to go.”

Back in the golf kart, Derek asked “What is my score?”

Stiles grimaced. “Let’s just say that, for your first game, you aren’t playing that bad. I mean, I’ve seen worse. This isn’t sounding reassuring at all.” He shook his head.

Derek chuckled, and then brushed a hand through his very sexy stubble, furrowing his brows in worry. “So, is there any chance of me winning this?”

“If you’re referring to the game, then no. If you’re talking about the business deal, your atrociously high score shouldn’t hinder it too much. Though the jury is still out on that front.” Stiles told him.

Derek sighed.

“Why is Argent playing hard to get, anyway? This should be a sure deal.” Stiles stated.

“I used to date his sister.” Derek whispered, voice low over the soft rumble of the golf kart and Stiles immediately realized that wasn’t a topic Derek was comfortable with.

The circumstances regarding Derek and Kate’s break up, which took place a while after Derek’s parents died in a tragic fire, were still shrouded in mystery. An unusual lack of interest given by the media to such a controversial relationship between two of the most influent families, both in and out of the Lycan community. Silence bought with silver dollars. 

When they get out of the kart, Argent throws the ball into a lake. Derek, understanding that the man wants to talk without the prying ears of the caddies, or of Stiles, snooping around where they don’t belong, masterly does the same.

“Scott, go fetch my ball.” Argent ordered, while Derek simply tilted his head towards the golf ball.

Stiles didn’t needed to be told twice.

“He must think I’m a dog.” Scott complains.

Scott does have this sort of puppy dog eye look, of which he is very aware of and uses it anytime he needs to persuade Stiles in doing something.

“I bet he promised bodily pain if any harm would ever befall his daughter a gazillion times by now.” Stiles joked, as the duo entered the lake, golf shoes with white socks already tucked inside and left by the shore.

“Something like that. And if you didn’t complain about Hale every time he appears on tv, I would say I saw some sparks flying around.” Scott mocked.

Stiles snorted before diving in the lake and catching one of the forgotten balls lost between the stale water of the water hazard.

When he came back to the surface, he spit a spurt of water.

“I swear that any sparks you saw flying around were one hundred percent one sided. From my side to his, to be more precise.” Stiles told him, taking a seaweed that had somehow gotten inside his collared shirt with plaid accents.

“I don’t know. You were never very good at telling if people liked you.”

“Lies. All scandals and lies”

“Need I remind you Erica or Danny? They both had crushes on you at a given time and you only found out years after.” Scott reminded him.

“That was in high school, I was still learning!” Stiles excused himself with a dismissing hand. “Besides, during that time I only had eyes for Lydia.”

“You were way past Lydia in college and there was around –” Scott grimaced, trying to remember the names and counting each one with the help of his fingers.

“Okay, I think I got the message. I suck at getting vibes of interest. My radar is broken. But let’s be real, that’s Derek Hale. I mean, guys with muscles like that don’t give boys with faces like mine the time of day. My nose is awful and I have all these moles and my skin looks like that of a baby.”

“Whatever you say.”

And then the wet, cold clothes against his skin finally left their tool, leading Stiles to sneeze. “I hate this job.” He said, echoing Scott’s words.

“Me too.” Scott agreed. “Except for four to five on week days.”

Stiles rolled his eyes.

That was, of course, the schedule of Allison’s classes.

Returning to where Derek and Mr. Argent were waiting for the caddies with their golf balls, in order to resume their match, the puppy dog eyes Derek was harboring didn’t escape Stiles’ attention.

“Why the poop face?” Stiles asked when he and Derek were driving in the golf kart towards hole number seven.

“I don’t have a poop face.” Derek argued.

“Really? Just tell me what’s wrong, Derek.” Stiles ordered, and then remembered he was Derek’s subordinated. “If you want to, of couse.”

Derek sighed. “Chris Argent asked me what kind of project Hale Enterprises had in mind to publicize Argent’s Inc. new position concerning Lycan rights.”

“Well, that should be easy.”

Derek sent Stiles a questioning look.

“You guys throw several different kinds of benefit parties every year, you just have to make the Argent Inc. the poster name for one of them. Maybe even naming that new Safe Haven for refugee Lycans your company has been planning to build.” Stiles said, just babbling out ideas as they came to mind.

“You’re a genius.” Derek told him, a shit eating grin framing his face. “I could kiss you right now.”

Stiles took only seconds to overcome the shock that came with Derek’s words, uttered without any hint of humor. “Later. When you lose the game and close the deal.” Stiles told him, as the golf kart came to a stop.  

Maybe he was just in denial or maybe, as the look Derek gave him left no room for misunderstandings, Scott was right.

Maybe Stiles was blind to signs of interest coming from people far hotter than him. Well, he wasn’t perfect and, honestly, that wasn’t a fault he was going to complain about. Not if the end result was kissing Derek Hale.

After both Derek and Argent stroke the ball out of the tee box, Derek walked right ahead, leaving Stiles to fiddle with the club and the tee, Scott staying back to wait for him and Argent followed Derek.

Though they never were out of earshot.

“So, I’ve been thinking about avenues to promote our partnership among the general audience. Hale Enterprises has been planning to build a new Lycan refugee facility for quite some time now, but we’ve been lacking monetary investment. I think the Argent refugee camp would be a great way to publicize your new stance on Lycan rights. We might even issue a press release solely for that purpose” Derek told Argent while Stiles and Scott were already behind them, listening in on the conversation while pretending to be distracted by his video game.

“Very well.” Argent agreed with a curt nod.

“Of course, the deal only holds if Argent Inc. subsidizes Hale Enterprises the amount we already discussed earlier.” Derek argued, standing a ground Chris had been battling to move.

“Derek, I think you need to learn that in business deals, like in life, sometimes it’s necessary to reach a compromise.” Argent refuted.

Derek nodded, and for a moment, Stiles thought he was about to give in. “I’m very aware. This deal is my compromise. I think you just have to think very carefully about how much you want or need this partnership.” He said.

“Of course.” Argent replied, and his tone was that of reluctant acceptance.

A wave of enthusiasm rushed over Stiles’ body, leaving his limbs with an itch that only spastic jumping and victory chants could scratch, like he was the one that had just closed a million dollar deal and saved his multimillion dollar company.

Derek looked over his shoulder with a smug and proud glimmer in his eyes, proud of himself and Stiles put two thumbs up, in lieu of congratulations, doing the best he could to contain his excitement.

Derek’s lips formed a small thank you before he looked forward again and the moment lasted only a feeble couple of seconds, so frail Stiles wondered if he hadn’t imagined it.

Scott’s bulged out eyes, staring at him intensely like Stiles had suddenly grown out a second head, which he hadn’t, he had checked, told him without a shadow of a doubt that it had been real, which filled Stiles with an irrational sense of joy.

The rest of the match came together in a misty blur, Argent ending up winning the game, although the final gap between their scores wasn’t as big as Stiles had initially thought it would be at the beginning of the match.

“Fuck, I did it.” Derek breathed out, his back leaning against the seat of the golf kart as they drove back to the golf club, shoulders lumping down like a weight had just been lifted from Derek’s shoulders. A chuckled came from the deepest realms of his body, throaty and dry, a grin forming in his lips. “I did it.”

“Yeah, you did.” Stiles echoed.

Derek’s look was one of pride and happiness and self-accomplishment, but also one of gratitude and admiration and wonder, like Stiles was the best thing to ever happen to him. It made Stiles’ mouth drop open, sent shivers down his spine. No one had ever looked at him like that, like he was the center of the universe, and it scared him and excited him all at once.

If Stiles had any female genitalia, it would’ve exploded right then.

Derek’s eyes dropped to Stiles’ lips, a lust washing over them that makes Stiles skin crawl under the scrutiny.

Stiles quickly looked back to the golf court, trying to ignore the tension filling the air.

If he ever got arrested for public indecency, his dad was never going to let that go.

Reaching the golf club, Derek and Stiles hopped out of the kart and joined Chris Argent and Scott, the tension of sexual variation dissipating a bit.

“My secretary will call you to arrange a meeting on Monday.” Argent informed Derek with a polite handshake.

“I’ll be waiting.” Derek replied.

“You stay away from my daughter.” Argent told Scott with a dead serious expression.

“I can’t promise that, sir.” Scott said, dumbly going for honesty and shaking Argent’s hand for what was, from the cringe that overcame his face, a rather painful handshake.

“Hale Enterprises was lucky to have you.” Chris Argent told Stiles shortly and, without handshakes or pleasantries of any kind, turned his back and left towards the reception of the Whitmore Golf Club.

“I’ll go file some stew.” Scott told them, and he couldn’t have been more awkward of he tried, hurrying away.

Derek and Stiles rolled their eyes when their gazes met.

“Chris was right. I owe Deaton for recommending you.” Derek revealed and Stiles’ eyes widened at the mention of the familiar name.

Alan Deaton was a local veterinary that came into the club every Thursday.

“I wasn’t aware you knew Deaton.” Stiles said.

“Deaton has been an acquaintance of my family and a supporter of our cause for a long time. Used to be a big friend of my mom and I guess he probably sees helping me as a favor to her.”

“I always suspected there was more to that man than his very jolly exterior.”

“And Peter will be satisfied.” Derek said, his eyes being taken by a somber look.

Stiles wasn’t so sure. Peter might’ve been helping Derek, but his agenda has always been to take over Hale Enterprises. And there’s no point in being in charge of a company that is in the dirt. By sending Derek blind in a meeting central for the future of Hale Enterprises, he probably hoped to paint an image of Derek as incompetent and unfit, barging in to save the day and Hale Enterprises form certain doom.

Though Stiles chose not to share his ramblings with Derek.

They stayed a bit in silence, during which Derek looked awkwardly to his feet and, after a while, locking his eyes on Stiles’ with newfound determination. “I would like us to go out, sometime.”

“I don’t think I can wait that long.” Stiles grabbed Derek by the wrist and dragged him along through the hallways of the golf club, the man offering no resistance. “I mean, I was probably going to jack myself off from accumulated sexual frustration when I got home, so we might as well take care of that right now.”

Derek’s laughter was so intoxicating Stiles wanted to record it and hear it forever.

But he opted for shoving Derek inside a storage room and closing the door behind them, his body being pressed against the door before Stiles could even blink, Derek’s toned arms framing his features, chest so close Stiles’ felt the heat emanating from Derek’s werewolf body and Derek’s legs restraining his movements.

Derek’s mouth was hovering over Stiles’ teasingly, his breath so inebriating Stiles wanted to taste it, to drown his tongue in his scent.

Derek came in closer, warm breath whispering against Stiles’ ear. “You smell so good, have been smelling like sex all day. I want to fuck you.”

Stiles’ felt his cheeks flush.

Apparently he hadn’t been able to hide his want as well as he thought. “Well, big guy, none of us has time for a knotting session right now, since people can come a’knocking at any time, so some sexy times of the jacking off variation will have to do.” Stiles said, brushing his hand against the prickle of Derek’s stubble.

“You’re so lame.” Derek mocked. “I –”

Stiles pulled Derek’s head forward, smashing their lips together and silencing Derek’s words, mouths moving against each other with loud clacks, dirty and wet.

Stiles enjoyed the burn of Derek’s stubble against his skin and against his lips as Stiles tugged at the hem of Derek’s hair, tilting his head backwards in order to allow better access. He trailed the harsh bristle of Derek’s stubble down his chin and along his throat, Derek releasing a soft moan when Stiles’ licked over his Adam’s apple.

The moan shifted into a grunt when Stiles closed his whole mouth over it, moaning against it as the vibrations originating on Derek’s throat reverberated through every fiber of Stiles’ body and hardened his dick.

 Derek’s body becoming limber underneath his mouth, Stiles pushed him Derek’s back got shoved into a rack, the entire bracket trembling from the impact as Derek released a, more surprised than pained, growl. 

Stiles’ quickly lifted the black collared shirt Derek was wearing, without completely removing it. “You can’t be real. Real people don’t have abs like this.”  He said while trailing with long fingers the muscles of Derek’s abs.

“Real people don’t have lips like yours either.” Derek retorted with heavy breathing.

Stiles ignored him and kissed Derek’s abs, feeling the muscles contract as Derek’s stomach rumbles under his lips and then, led by the spur of the moment, dipped his tongue into Derek’s belly button, which looked sensual as fuck and Stiles just wanted to circulate his tongue inside it, so he did.

“Fuck, Stiles.” Derek grunted, throwing and hitting his head against the racks with a loud thud, golf balls falling into the closet’s floor and rolling aimlessly.

With a hand still holding Derek’s shirt up, Stiles’ used his other hand to unbutton Derek’s white khaki pants, his fingers struggling with such a simple task. One of Derek’s hands shoved the one Stiles’ was using to hold up the black shirt, allowing Stiles to easily pop out the button and free Derek’s bulging erection from the confinement of both the pants and the boxer briefs.

“You should grow your hair out.” Derek said with panting breath, grazing a hand over Stiles’ buzz cut.

“I’m not growing my hair out for any guy or gal.” Stiles whispered, looking up at Derek through half closed lids. The air being carried out with Stiles’ words over Derek’s cock made him grunt and lean his head against one of the racks.

“Fine.” Derek muttered and Stiles’ blew at the length of his cock teasingly, which made the grown man wince again. “Just put it in your mouth already.”

Stiles’ smirked, pleased with himself, and complied.

First, he closed his mouth over Derek’s head, circling it with a wet tongue and then he pushed forward, taking more and more of Derek until all of Derek was in Stiles’ mouth, Stiles’ gagging around him and pulling back, leaving a shiny trail of spit along its length.

Derek started drawing small circles with his thumb against Stiles’ cheek, hooking his remaining fingers on the back of Stiles’ head, thrusting inside Stiles’ mouth at the same time Stiles took Derek’s cock into his mouth, both of them setting a merciless pace that left Stiles’ breathless and brought tears unto his burning eyes.  

When Derek came, a salty flavor filling his mouth, Stiles pulled back and Derek’s arm followed the motion, waiting for Stiles’ to catch his breath before inclining his head upwards and trailing with his tongue the tears that had fell down Stiles’ cheek, kissing each eye afterwards.

“You look so pretty like this, cheeks flushed and lips full.” Derek told with a raw voice that left Stiles with nothing but want, but need, Derek pressing a thumb against Stiles’ lower lip before pulling him into a sloppy kiss that swiped every inch of his fucked up mouth.  

“Open your mouth.” He ordered, index finger pressing into Stiles’ chin before a string of spit dropped from Derek’s mouth into Stiles’ eager one.

“Fuck, Derek –” Stiles muttered, feeling completely wrecked already, because that was sexy and dirty and _fuck_ , before his words were cut out by Derek licking his open mouth.

“Get up.” Derek then growled, pulling at his shoulder blades and Stiles complied.

As Derek started pushing Stiles backwards, his legs got caught up in the dropped down pants and Stiles’ giggled – because Derek, shirt only hanging from his arms, a shiny layer of sweat starting form on his forehead and red marks covering his licked abs, was the spitting image of sex and had just done something as ridiculously adorable as getting stuck on his own pants – a giggle echoed by one from Derek, although much more throaty.

“This just killed your bad boy vibe and dangerous demeanor.” Stiles mocked.

“I’m still a werewolf.” Derek reminded him with furrowed brows and a threatening stare while pulling up his pants, button popped out and fly open, which didn’t helped at all.

“An adorable werewolf.” Stiles agreed.

Derek rolled his eyes and turned Stiles around, shoving him against one of the racks on the side and the fact that they were doing enough noise to be heard by any passerby employee only went through Stiles’ mind as a distant thought.

“Let’s see how much you’ll be laughing when I’m done with you.” Derek whispered in his hear, a dangerous hint to his voice that somehow convinced Stiles.

Maybe his mind was easily fooled.

Derek slipped his hands through the hem of Stiles’ shirt, raising the fabric while brushing his hands up Stiles’ sides, leaning down to drop soft kisses, tongue barely touching skin, along the pale dotted sides of Stiles’ body.

Derek’s warm breath blowing over his skin made his hair bristle as the man dropped on his knees, each thumb hooking on the sides of his waistband, pulling loose pants down.

“Oh, yeah.” Derek whispered, caressing each of his butt cheeks. “Spread your legs for me.” He requested and Stiles obliged, struggling a bit with the pants around his ankles.

He was almost sure Derek had made it on purpose.

“Very nice.” Derek congratulated, pushing a butt cheek aside for better access.

After making a popping noise with his mouth, Derek pressed his thumb, wet from what Stiles could tell, against his opening. Stiles felt the thumb teasingly hovering over the hole, pressing but not quite entering. Stiles’ thrusted his ass back, in frustration.

Derek chuckled.

“Stop being a tease!” Stiles told him.

And so Derek did, pushing the finger inside, just after the initial rings of muscles and wiggled it around, massaging Stiles’ walls and opening his hole. Stiles moaned pleasingly and then a whine escaped his throat, more from surprise than other thing, when Derek sank his teeth into his cheek, with enough force to mark but not enough to actually be painful. Actually, coupled with the waves of pleasure Derek’s finger was giving him, it was kind of nice. More than nice.

And the fact that Derek licked the sting left by the mark, with almost unbearable care, like he was saying he was sorry, didn’t go unnoticed, through the cascade of feelings.

Stiles almost whimpered when Derek removed his fingers, because he needed _more_.

“Derek, for the life of me just put your fingers back inside me or I swear to god I’ll chop you to bits and infuse your body parts with infusion of wolfsbane, so you can’t come back ever, and keep your dick for my pleasure.” Stiles muttered.

“I’m glad to know you only like me for my body. And that now I know to which person I should go to when I need disposing of a body.” Derek said dryly. “Now if you were so kind to drench my fingers with your spit, it would really be an honor.” He added and Stiles’ dick somersaulted at that. It was unfair for Derek to say things so dirty. More unfair was the fact that Derek could go from dry to dirty just like that, dangerous and commanding voice to go along with it and all.

Stiles complied, opening his mouth around two of Derek’s fingers and licking them until they were dripping wet while Derek used his other hand to attend Stiles’ neglected dick, stroking it almost painfully slow.

When Derek was satisfied, he pulled his fingers away and kneeled again of the storage room’s floor, shoving slick fingers into Stiles’ hole which made Stiles’ groan and then whine, because Derek wasn’t being tender anymore, setting on a ruthless rhythm as he’s fucking Stiles with his fingers and stroking his dick at a matching pace that makes Stiles tighten his grip around the steel rack, face laying on an empty golf bag that muffles whimpering whines.

While he was destroying Stiles, sometimes Derek would stop, to kiss and nibble at his cheeks and at the low of his back, to shove his too harsh tongue inside him, to spit into Stiles’ hole and spreading it around and into him with a thumb that massages over and inside his wrecked hole, too slow and careful before the torture begins, a different torture on its own.

A very sexy, very pleasing kind of torture.

When Stiles cums, too soon and too late, thankfully and unfortunately, waves course through his body that makes his every limb shake as spurts of cum are shot from his cum and hopefully into something they can easily clean.

After the initial discharge, Derek continues to stroke Stiles’ cock, forcing more cum to come out, more waves to rush like him like the echoes after an earthquake that shake his body from up to bottom, legs threatening to give out and every time Stiles wishes it’s the last and at the same time wishes there is just one more to come.

When Stiles’ cock shuts down, Derek finally dropping the hand holding his dick, ruthless waves of shock and pleasure no longer rushing through his body, Stiles is overcome with a sort of numbness that is welcomed with open arms.

Stiles feels Derek getting up behind him, sweat filled chest pressing against sweat filled back.

Derek rubs his stubble against the buzz of Stiles’ hair, laying lazy kisses on his shoulders, like he’s telling Stiles what a good job he just done.

Stiles’ shoves at him with an elbow and Derek eyes him with wide, questioning eyes.

“Stop it. I ain’t no dog or no wolf.” Stiles told him, pulling him forward to lay his head between Derek’s neck and shoulder, feeling the fabric of Derek’s shirt against his buzz cut, resting.

“Idiot. That’s something normal people do. But I guess you’ll find anything to mock me, no matter how nonsensical it is.” Derek said dryly.

Stiles shoves him again, before noticing a white drop on Derek’s nose that makes him giggle.

“I wonder what excuse you’ll give me for smelling it.” Stiles teased, licking the drop of his own cum out of Derek’s nose.

“Shut up.” Derek said.

“You shut up.” Stiles retorted.

“Stilinski, get out here this instance.” Coach Finstock’s yell echoes through the door, and from the sound of it, he’s right outside.

Stiles pulls his pants up and tries to straighten his shirt before deciding it’s useless. Though Derek seems like he just left his house, which was unfair.

Said man was now looking at Stiles with a look Stiles had learn to mean Derek was unsure of what to say.

“I want to meet again.” Derek told him.

Stiles took a card out of his pocket, smirking. “I already have your business card. So, I’ll call you and we can go to some fancy restaurant where I’ll give you a run for your money.”

Derek only halfheartedly checked his pocket, realizing his business card was now gone, before a grin dawned in his lips.

“I can’t wait.” Derek said, before giving Stiles one last kiss that left him feeling heady, which was kind of ridiculous after what they had just done, and left the small storage room.

When Stiles followed him, he got a slap in the head by Coach.

“Ah.” Stiles complained.

“That was for sleeping with a costumer. One more time and you’re fired.” Finstock threatened.

“It’s a deal, Coach.” And then he was smacked again. “What the hell was that one for?” Stiles asked, rubbing the back of his head.

“After I left, I realized you insulted me.”

“You _are_ slow.”

Another smack. Why couldn’t his mouth learn how to be shut?

“Watch it, Bilinski.” And with that, the Coach was off on his merry way and any post orgasmic bliss Stiles had going on went away with him. 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it and that it wasn't too much of a mess with all the different elements I tried to include in this.


End file.
